It was true. The last time Jahandar had seen Reza bin-Latief was not long after his wife and daughter had perished within days of each other. A tragedy no man should have to endure. One that had clearly taken its toll.
Reza had lost weight. His hair had thinned on top while greying at the temples. His mustache was fuller, and he’d begun to grow a beard. He no longer had the appearance of a man who found much joy in life. The lines along his face were not lines drawn by delight or satisfaction.
They were lines drawn by thought. Or perhaps calculation?
“What time of day is it?” Jahandar asked, his voice cracked and dry.
Reza handed him some water. “Almost dinnertime.”
Jahandar took an absentminded sip. “My daughters will be by shortly.” As soon as the words fell from his tactless lips, Jahandar wanted to catch them.
How thoughtlessly cruel!
But Reza did not seem to notice. “You are a lucky man. Such devoted children. I’m told Irsa comes to see you quite frequently.”
“Shahrzad has been by twice today.” Jahandar took another sip.
Reza propped a hand beneath his beard. “That’s good to hear. I was told she’s been ill the last few days.”
“Ill?” Jahandar’s brows gathered on his forehead.
“Old friend . . .” Reza paused to smile, then leaned closer. “I’ve not come to waste your time or trouble you unnecessarily. I know you’re still recovering. And there is a pressing matter I need to attend to this evening. But may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve heard—many conflicting rumors of what occurred the night of the storm in Rey.”
Jahandar stiffened. His free hand drew tight over the book. It still felt warm to the touch, though it no longer burned with the same fervor. The cold metal of the key around his neck weighed him down, like an anchor dragging along the seafloor.
Reza observed his reaction in silence. Then he pressed on, without missing a beat.
“Can you not tell me what happened?”
“I—I do not remember.” Jahandar’s broken nails dug into the worn leather of the book.
“Truly?”
Jahandar nodded.
Reza sighed with obvious reluctance. “I am not one of the shiftless masses, Jahandar-jan. We’ve spent many years of friendship together. I was there when Irsa was born. And I was there when . . . Mina died.” His voice grew soft. “I did all I could, and I always wished I could do more.”
Jahandar’s heart caught in his throat. It was true. Reza had brought his own personal physician to Jahandar’s wife’s sickbed, though his efforts had been for naught. And Reza had cared for Shahrzad and Irsa in the days following, when Jahandar had been . . . unable to do so.
“I know, old friend,” Jahandar whispered. “I will never forget what you did.”
Reza’s smile was sad and small. “Alas, such trying times can never be forgotten. But I’d rather we recall what friends are capable of in our times of need.” He paused for emphasis. “Just as I know what you are capable of, even if there are only a handful of people who are aware of it.”
This, too, was true. Reza had always known that Jahandar possessed unique abilities.
Reza steepled both hands beneath his chin, letting his gaze fall upon Jahandar’s smooth scalp. “Old friend, did you do something the night of the storm?”
Could he confide in Reza bin-Latief? Could he trust him with his secret?
“If you did,” Reza pressed in a low voice, “please know I will not judge you. In fact, I will celebrate you. For I know you did not mean to do anything wrong. And, if you did do something, it must have been a remarkable feat.”
Jahandar swallowed.
“One we would have a tremendous use for,” Reza finished.
Use? Reza had a use for Jahandar?
“If you accomplished such an astounding feat alone,” Reza said quietly, his brown eyes bright in their fervor, “can you imagine what you could accomplish with a force of soldiers at your back? With the strength of an army at your beck and call?”
Jahandar’s gaze flitted across Reza bin-Latief’s face. Across the lines drawn by deep thought. And obvious calculation.
He saw it. He knew what Reza was doing.
Knew it . . . and did not care.
Jahandar realized that for the first time in many years—for the first time since Mina had died and he had lost his position in the palace—Reza truly saw him. Saw the man he’d first met those many years ago. A vizier to the Caliph of Khorasan.
A man of power and influence.
A man worthy of Reza’s consideration.
In low tones, Jahandar began talking. And did not stop.
Not until Reza bin-Latief smiled with satisfaction.
Just like old times.
THE WINGED SERPENT
SHAHRZAD HAD NOT INTENDED TO TORMENT KHALID with the magic carpet.
Not at first.
But he brought it on himself. Truly, he did.
The moment the Caliph of Khorasan said—with coolly regal arrogance—that only a child would be afraid to fly, Shahrzad knew it was a challenge she was meant to take on.
Meant to see fall to glorious pieces.
After all, even she had been afraid at first. But Khalid need not know that.